So, I guess it’s “Goodnight, Grampy.” I hope to get back here tomorrow, in the evening. I told Mom I’d come with her, and we’d work side-by-side. Well… actually, she said she was going to do some serious emptying out of kitchen drawers and cabinets. She said I should just continue in the attic, since that was my favorite room in the whole house.
Grampy… when am I going to stop hurting so bad?!
• • • •
Chapter 8
Hey, Grampy.
Well, it’s “tomorrow.” (Or, do I mean it’s “today?”) My day’s activities are done, and Mom and I just got here to your house about twenty minutes ago. (I’ll always think of it as yours.) She said maybe we could order a pizza for the two of us and work until about ten o’clock tonight. So, we did. Now she’s downstairs. I can hear her banging around in the kitchen. It’s quite the racket.
Mom was so sweet. We sat in the living room, eating our pizza and guzzling Dr. Pepper, while I spilled the whole sordid story of last night’s desecrated memory. How Jeremy took away something I’d looked longingly forward to my whole life. Mom was, of course, her usual self. We cried and hugged, and cried and hugged, then we resorted to a whole new way of dealing with the whole thing…we cried and hugged. I don’t think I’ve cried so much in my whole life. Mom said she was so disappointed that Jeremy hadn’t included her and Daddy in the whole thing. She reminded me that Daddy wanted so badly to give Jeremy and me his blessing. But, that never happened. She couldn’t believe that Jeremy would have so blatantly left them out of the whole process. And, she reminded me that Daddy could never walk me down the aisle and give me to a man who didn’t even seek my hand from him. Then, yet again, Mom and I broke down and cried voluminous amounts of tears.
• • • •
Oh, BTW (don’t know why I’m throwing this in here)… you’ll be proud to know that after I finished writing you yesterday, I managed to mindlessly fill seven garbage bags of junk and haul it to the street for garbage pickup today. (Yep, it’s already been picked up.) Then, I packed four boxes with things that I thought Mom should make decisions on whether to keep or not, and I collected a bunch of random things and drove them to a Goodwill store that’s on my way home. Mom bragged on me for a long time. I was so grateful for mostly being able to throw away junk. Mainly because it was such a mindless task. I felt incapable of further distressing myself with thoughts of last night.
But, I’m stronger today. I still haven’t talked to Jeremy, but I told Mom about writing to you about the whole marriage proposal ordeal. Well, how I’d started, but wasn’t finished yet. She was her typical precious self and said that right now it was more important for me to be able to finish the letter to you than working on packing up the house. She counseled me to forget about the house and its contents until I had completely processed last night’s happenings. So, she shooed me upstairs to the attic, and told me not to come down until the “rest of the story” had been told to you, Grampy.
As soon as I sat down to the old typewriter, the words came gushing forth.
• • • •
I checked back on the previous pages and found that I left off where Jeremy and I were sitting in Manicotti Kisses’ foyer, having been ridiculously late. But, how “the powers that be” were going to let us stay and eat anyway. Well… as soon as a table emptied, that is.
So, to continue…
I was awestruck with the interior of the restaurant that I could see from our seat in the foyer. It was beyond anything that I could imagine. Interestingly (or at least I think it is), I was so focused on what the inside of the restaurant looked like, that my pain began to recede, or else I was so consumed by the wonder of its interior architectural design that I temporarily forgot about my ravaged tooth.
(Oh, I forgot to mention that I went to the dentist today. He’s having to make a crown for me. Fortunately the tooth is in back, because he had to remove it, root and everything. I have a big hole on that side where the tooth used to be. I keep playing with it with my tongue. The good news is that at least the major toothache pain is gone. It’s just kind of a raw ache now. I get the new tooth next Friday. Since he had to remove the root and stuff, he has to put the new one in with a steel pin that is shoved down into the root hole. I think they somehow cement it in, or some such deal.)
Back to the restaurant description…
As I gazed through the windowed wall into the dining room, I could readily see that the restaurant was not all on one level. Yes, I remember you told me it had levels, but somehow I thought that meant floor number one, and upstairs… floor number two.
Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that there were multiple (what? maybe eight or ten) little dining “suites” up randomly located staircases, all of them completely exposed to the view of everyone in the establishment, as well as a dining area on the main floor.
I scanned the room from left to right, just like you read a book.
The first “dining suite” was about eight steps up above the main floor. The “suite” itself was only large enough for maybe six or eight people at one large table. Instead of walls surrounding it, it was in the open, with nothing more than a banister around its edges. And… it had a small sign hung from the banister that named it. (They named the suites…can you imagine? Oh, yeah, you’ve been there, so of course you already know.) It was “Tuscan Villa.” As soon as I realized it had a name, my eyes began “devouring” the others to see what they were called. The other dining suites were randomly raised up individual staircases at varied heights and various angles in the building. I’ll just list them here, so I don’t forget their names:
“Tuscan Baron” was for four customers, and was up about fourteen steps.
“ Tuscan Grapes of Wrath.” (I think they were getting cutesy here… ya know, after the novel.) It was for about ten people. It was one of the larger ones, and was up about nine or ten steps.
Well, I’m stumped here. I can’t remember anymore names. I think I remember one called “Tuscan Vineyard.” Oh, oh, oh… one was called “Tuscan Garden.” And, one called “Tuscan Flo…”. Never mind. I forget. But, for each of them, they were called “Tuscan Something-or-Other.”
Out of all of them, there was only one that didn’t start with the word “Tuscan.”
And, that was the one we ate in.
When the receptionist finally came to get us and showed us to our dining suite, she did the typical routine. She came out to us in the foyer, asked us to follow her, and gave us a few interesting factoids about the restaurant, as we headed off toward our suite. (Or, should I have said up to our suite?) She included things like when the restaurant was built, who the architect was, how long it took to build it, how many workers were employed, and some other things I’ve totally forgotten.
She was so animated in her presentation, though, that neither Jeremy nor I either one realized that she was leading us to the center of the dining room, and had started walking us up the stairs. We’d gone up maybe seven steps or so before I gave the first thought to the suite toward which we were headed, or its name. I took a look up the staircase’s height, to discover that our suite was twenty-one steps up. Yep, one-and-a-half stories up. It was the highest suite in the whole restaurant. (Do you remember that suite, Grampy?) The high location of that suite was not for the faint of heart. And, it being so high, the receptionist explained to us that a worker had fallen to his death from it during construction, and that’s why this was the only suite in the restaurant that had banisters that were six feet high.
I looked at Jeremy when she’d told us about the death. We both looked at each other in the eye, with scrunched and horrified faces. As of then, we hadn’t said a single word to each other since he’d shushed me in the foyer. So, it was a silent communication. The receptionist picked up on our looks of horror and questioning.
“Yeah, you’re reaction was like mine. All I could think was why in the world would the owner want to spread that information to customers who w
ould be sitting up there. He said his wife told him that it added to the mystique of the restaurant. Personal opinion, of course, but I think the customers could live without that little fact tidbit.” We nodded in unison to the last comment.
By the end of her narration, we’d reached the suite. Yep, it really was one-and-a-half stories up. Just before stepping into its domain, I asked her what the name of the suite was. She said if I took one step back onto the staircase, I could read for myself. Why she didn’t just tell me, I didn’t know. Jeremy had already read it, because he was both behind me and more observant. His face was scarlet. I didn’t know why. But, I discovered quickly. When I walked back around him and walked back down the top step, I saw why. The name of that particular suite was “Virgins of Tuscany.” Apparently that, and the fact that all the occupants below us all over the restaurant were whispering about us and pointing up to us, embarrassed him no end. I didn’t care. I mean, I am a virgin and proud of it, but Jeremy was mortified by the attention. He immediately reacted by asking the receptionist if she could find us another location. When she said that all tables and suites were booked for the entire rest of the evening, and it was either this suite or none, Jeremy stomped to the small table, only big enough for two, pulled his own chair out, and plopped in it with a scowl. Leaving the receptionist to pull out my chair and motion for me to be seated.
Chapter 9
“Are we going to sit here during the whole dinner and not speak?” I probably should have kept my mouth shut, Grampy. But, you know me. I couldn’t. Once spoken, it couldn’t be taken back anyway.
Grampy, do you remember the greatbig (I’m so frustrated that you don’t have any White-Out here.) Anyway, as I was saying… Do you remember the ginormous wall clock that’s on the wall on the… I think, southwest wall? Or, is it the south wall? Since our suite sat on a forty-five degree “twist” in the room, I can’t seem to figure it out. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. (I can’t put it to rest. How big across is that clock? I was going to ask the waiter, but forgot. I’m going to take a wild guess that it’s diameter was maybe eight or more feet. I’ve never seen a wall clock that big!)
Yeah, I know… I’m getting sidetracked again.
So, Grampy, when I looked at the clock from the time we sat down at our table for two, heard the verbally embellished specials from the waiter, perused our menus, ordered, and began the wait for our food, it was almost twenty minutes. During that time we never said one word to each other, hence my asking him if we weren’t going to talk the whole time we were there.
Ok, so… hold on. His reply was priceless.
“What’s the difference? You’re so busy sitting over there thinking about David that you haven’t noticed I’m here anyway.”
When I heard his words, I could feel my whole body tense up, complete with balled fists under the table. What???!!!
My response was far too loud. I knew it, but I couldn’t seem to rein it in.
“What in the world are you talking about?! What does David have to do with anything, other than the fact that he has done something nice for both of us this evening?!”
Typical for him, Jeremy looked around the huge dining room below us to see if anyone was looking. “Sh. People are looking up at us. Keep your voice down.”
By now I could feel the heat in my face, and knew that if I opened my mouth to respond, that something not very pretty was coming out. So, rather than saying something I couldn’t later take back, I quietly rose from my seat, telling him I was going down to the Ladies Room, and that I’d be back shortly. He didn’t even try to stop me.
I knew our food would get cold if it was delivered to us while I was gone, but I also knew that the waiter would probably be happy to take it back to the kitchen to warm it up.
So, there I sat on a velvet love seat that adorned the restroom. The very moment I felt the first tear spring to my eyes, I had a talking with myself.
“Don’t you dare cry! This is supposed to be a special night. Don’t you ruin it by going back to the table all pitiful, tear-streaked cheeks, and act like the martyr. You get up, splash a little water on your face if you have to, and march right back up to that table, tell him you’re sorry for the interruption, sit down, and begin a pleasant conversation with him.” Oh, and Grampy, you’ll be happy to know I threw in a phrase you used on me when I misbehaved at your house and you were the one to discipline me… “Do you understand me, young lady?”
• • • •
When I arrived back up to our “romantic and intimate” little dining suite, Jeremy was gone. I took a long visual sweep through the tall banister spokes, visually scanning the entire dining room floor below, and all the varied multi-level suites. Nowhere! He was nowhere to be found. However, rather than panicking, I made the assumption that he’d probably gone to the Men’s Room. Maybe he needed a momentary break from me as much as I did from him.
Another five minutes or so passed… no Jeremy. Yet another five minutes… still no Jeremy. By then the food had arrived.
So what should I have done then, Grampy? Eat, and hope Jeremy arrived soon, so his meal wouldn’t get cold and congealed? Eat, hoping that he’d get there soon, and not be mad at me for going ahead without him? Wait, hoping he’d get back before both our meals were not worth the eating? Summon the waiter to the table, asking him to take the dinners back to the kitchen and allow them to sit under the heating lamps? Get up and walk around the dining area below, looking for Jeremy, then bring him back to the table?
I was totally and thoroughly flummoxed. (I know you used that word a lot. I didn’t look it up on my dictionary app, but I think I used it correctly.)
After a final five minutes…when I say “final,” I just mean that my patience was at level zero by that time. The only thought that kept repeating itself in my head was that if Jeremy didn’t have a really good reason for his disappearance, I was going to blow a gasket.
Not to my credit, I had several imaginary scenarios of conversations that we would hold when he returned. Trust me, Grampy, none of them was pretty! In each of them I said hugely unkind and unforgiving things, and Jeremy would have been properly put in his place. Each scene in my mind ended with me as the “victor.” However, he would also be so ticked off at me that he probably would have put an end to our “special” date before anything else could be said… by either of us. And, actually, it might have been better if he did just have us leave the restaurant and go home. Although, I had no idea at that point if David had made the car switch out in the parking lot, or not. We couldn’t just leave in David’s car! That wouldn’t be fair to David!
After completing my imaginary hateful scenarios, I sent a first real look at our plates. The food looked to be fabulous. Well… mine did, anyway. Jeremy ordered some kind of crab cake something-or-other (looked mushy and oozy), with marinated greens of some type (I think okra was involved somehow), a sweet and sour cole slaw (it had a blue tinge), bland white rice (looked totally flavorless) and something else that was pale and non-descript (just a small blob of it to the side of the plate). His whole meal looked nauseating. With all the amazing food choices at this restaurant, what in the world would possess someone to order what he’d chosen?
Not my problem, I guessed.
After taking one short, final perusal in a 360 degree visage, I gave up on Jeremy joining me any time soon. I determined in one brutal blast of thought, complete with jaw set, that I wasn’t waiting on him one more minute. And, I didn’t.
Even though my molar was starting to throb again… (why then?) I took my first bite of manicotti. I had two immediate reactions.
One… That first bite of food was, without a doubt, the most glorious and flavor-filled culinary delight I’d had in my whole life! It was beyond “delicious!” It surpassed being called “spectacular,” and…
Two… The pain that shot through my ailing tooth almost made me jump through the ceiling, which wouldn’t be that big of a leap, considering our dining suite was so high up
that the ceiling was only maybe five feet above my head. I actually shot up from my seat. Only a couple of inches, but it was still a “parting of the ways” between the seat and my posterior. (I know that both you and Grandma always hated how people used the three-letter word to signify their backside. And, always seeing your faces in my mind when I hear that word used, I’ve never been able to add it to my conversational repertoire. I think it will always be a no-no.)
Anywho…
Grabbing my swollen jaw, I knew from that moment that it didn’t matter if or when Jeremy returned to our table, I would not be able to eat another mouthful of food. For one brief moment, I considered chewing the remainder of the meal on the opposite side of my mouth, but knew it would never happen. It wasn’t going to matter which side of my mouth I chewed on, the pain from that one stupid tooth was going to keep me from being able to eat at all. So, there I sat, weaving back-and-forth, to-and-fro, eyes closed, quietly moaning in syncopation to the throbbing of my ravaged tooth.
Whatever happened to my “special” night? The one I would remember for the rest of my life?! The one that I would tell my future daughters about? The one that I would pull out of my memory and relish in my golden years? Well, actually, I don’t think I ever will forget last night! But, you know what I mean, Grampy.
“For all things work together for good to those who love the Lord,…” Get out of my head, Grampy! I don’t want to hear you telling me that right now. I’m still so angry at the way Jeremy treated me last night. The hurt is beyond anything I remember ever experiencing. And, besides how can you use that verse against me? And, don’t you dare tell me that God’s Word can never be used as a weapon, when spoken in love! Besides, you haven’t even heard the whole rest of the story. You think it’s hit its worse. But, not even close. Wait until you finish reading this whole account, then tell me if anything is “working for good.”
Manicotti Kisses Page 4